Coming To The Surface
by finaldecember
Summary: Sometimes, the simple things are what make us feel more alive - even if it's nothing more than a relaxing bath. Sequel to "Choice In The Matter"; must read that one first for this to really make sense


Owen sighed as he leaned back in the clawfoot tub, the water rising to just below his chin. It had been nearly two weeks since the incident that had eventually led him here - or had it been two months? Ever since he first set foot in the Tardis, time just didn't seem to matter as much as it had in Cardiff. He'd specifically searched for a flat that didn't have a tub because he knew he would never be spending enough time in his apartment to bother using it. Sleeping, quick showers, and the rare meal every once in a while; that was all the time he ever planned on spending in his flat, because the more time he spent not doing anything, the more clearly he would remember the reason why he'd agreed to work for Torchwood in the first place.

Now, he had all the time in the world to do whatever the hell he wanted, so long as he didn't touch anything that looked too important. That was exactly how the Doctor had phrased it, though to be honest, it felt more like the compulsory warning given to children that consisted of common sense they'd already picked up on through mistakes made earlier in life. And considering that Owen still felt as though he shouldn't touch anything he didn't recognize (which amounted to a little more than three-quarters of the areas he'd already explored, and he was sure that didn't amount to much at all), there was very little chance he'd decide to mess with things anyway just because he'd dealt with alien technology for the past four years.

For the moment, all he wanted to do was relax and try to forget what had happened just six hours before. The Doctor hadn't said what caused it, but Owen had woken up from what he thought would be a permanent death to what felt and looked like millions of glowing insects covering his body and crawling all over it. It reminded him simultaneously of a program he'd watched where a man allowed thousands of bees to cover his body for the sake of a photo shoot and those "doctor fish" he'd read about online. Neither was something he'd choose to experience if given the choice and the moment he tried to move, he realized that he hadn't been given a choice in this either.

There were heavy straps holding him to the bed firmly - one each across his shoulders, stomach, hips, and knees - and five figures were standing over him. Four of them were cat-faced people (he assumed they might be female, given the nun-like habits they all wore) who looked absolutely delighted at whatever was happening to Owen. That was when he'd started screaming out questions, his heart pounding in ways he hadn't thought possible and making him feel like he was about to die. No answers came, but he got the impression that somehow, everything would be alright. He was going to live this time.

Once the glowing had subsided, the cat nuns said something to the Doctor in a whisper that sounded more like purring than actual speech, then released the straps covering Owen's body and left the room. From there, it was a blur of frenzied rambling from the Doctor and more running than Owen felt he'd done in an entire month of Weevil hunting. Not that he did a lot of it, mind - that had been Jack and Ianto's little project together, thanks to the improved Weevil spray formula the latter had brought from Torchwood London. Perhaps the feeling was just a side effect of whatever those damned glowing bug things had done.

He knew they were alien, that had been obvious from the start. But what was their purpose? Were they some sort of healers? If so, they didn't seem to be very good at it. They'd done a fantastic job of healing his hand and the bullet wound in his chest, but something still felt .... wrong, like everything that made him Owen had been transferred into the body of someone else who just happened to look exactly like him. And he couldn't place what was giving him the feeling of wrongness. He could always ask the Doctor about it, but if it really was something to do with those glowing things, what chance was there of his questions being answered? He'd gotten used to questions being avoided while he was working with Jack, so he was pretty sure things wouldn't be too much different now.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, Owen slipped underneath the water then, only in part because he wasn't quite ready to leave the warmth of the tub. A memory had hit him of the day he'd jumped into the bay and attempted to drown himself, knowing full well that he couldn't die. Then, he'd submerged himself because of the argument he'd just had with Tosh in his flat; now, he was doing it to prove to himself that he really was alive. He lay quite still for a moment, completely enveloped by the water, then opened his mouth just a little and let a few bubbles of air escape. Yes. One of the few signs he trusted to tell him that this time, nothing had gone wrong. No botched experiment with the resurrection gauntlet or with alien drugs created by cat people. This was life and god, it felt good.


End file.
